Undersea City (13 page)

Lt. Tsuya’s brown eyes glowed angrily. “Money is not the only consideration, Mr. Danthorpe!”

“But it
is
a consideration. Oh, yes. It is to us, Lieutenant, because we have to make it. We don’t live off the taxpayers, you see.”

Tsuya fumed silently; I could see the strain lines showing on his lean pumpkin face. Danthorpe went on easily: “I don’t deny that you scientists can give us a lot of useful information. After all, don’t you have my own son working with you? And he’s a smart boy, Lieutenant. A very smart boy!” I could feel Harley Danthorpe stiffen with pride beside me. “But Jie’s only a boy!” barked his father suddenly, “and we can’t let boys tell us how to run Krakatoa Dome! You tell us we’re sitting on a seaquake fault. All right. We know that. What do you expect us to do about it?”

“We can expect a catastrophic quake within forty-eight hours,” Lt. Tsuya said stubbornly. “Possibly within twelve. The city must be evacuated.”

“Not ‘must,’ Lieutenant!” Danthorpe blazed. “You make the forecasts, that’s all! We’ll decide what ‘must’ be done. And take this as a starter—the city
cannot
be evacuated.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Lt. Tsuya took a deep, even breath. He pulled a sheaf of notes out of his portfolio and consulted them.

“I have spoken to the city engineers,” he said. “Here is their report.

“According to them, the city was designed to survive a Force Nine Quake with an adequate margin of safety. They believe that, with the edenite safety walls in full operation, most of the inhabitants would survive—at least, if it were not overly prolonged in duration. But the dome will collapse under Force Ten.

“Our forecast, as you know, is for Force Eleven, possibly Force Twelve.”

Ben Danthorpe listened silently.

Then, without changing expression, he nodded. “I have exactly those figures in my own briefcase, Lieutenant,” he said. “Nevertheless, I repeat my statement. Krakatoa Dome cannot be evacuated. “Your Honor.” He turned to the Mayor. “Your Honor, tell him why.”

The mayor started slightly. He was a big, pink, perspiring man who seemed inclined to take his orders from Ben Danthorpe; he almost looked surprised at being asked to speak in this kind of a discussion.

But when he spoke, what he had to say changed things.

“My office staff has been working on the evacuation problem for many years, on a stand-by basis,” he said. “This morning I asked them to bring their findings up to date.

“It is a problem, Lieutenant! And I don’t think that a solution exists.

“Our total population is three-quarters of a million.

“The available sub-sea shipping could carry away no more than fifty thousand.

“We can set up an air-shuttle that would take another hundred thousand dry-side in two days—if we had two days.

“We can find emergency space for fifty thousand more up on the platform—maybe even a hundred thousand, if we stop the air-lift and stand them on the flight decks.

“But that leaves us with, at best, more than half a million. More than five hundred thousand men, women and children, Lieutenant, waiting down here to shake hands with old Father Neptune.”

Lieutenant Tsuya snapped angrily: “Why don’t you have a better plan? Didn’t you know that this might happen some day?”

“Lieutenant!” roared the mayor, his pink face rapidly turning red. “Don’t forget yourself!”

But Barnacle Ben Danthorpe cut in before the mayor’s explosion could get out of hand. “That’s only the physical problem, Lieutenant,” he said. “There’s also a psychological problem. Most of our people wouldn’t leave the city even if they could. This is our home. And most of them feel, as I do, that we don’t need any quake forecasters to tell us what to do.”

He turned back to the mayor. “Your Honor,” he said, “I move that we thank the lieutenant for his trouble, and send him back to his playthings.”

There was a roar of discussion at that; and an angry fight that lasted for more than an hour—getting into questions, at the last, of what had become of funds that had been appropriated for various quake control measures.

But ultimately the motion was passed.

We were sent back to our playthings—and to the knowedge that the life expectancy of every man in Krakatoa Dome was well under two days.

Lt. Tsuya was seething with concealed rage—not too well concealed, at that.

We marched silently out of the city hall, to the elevator landing platforms. “Sir,” said Harley Danthorpe timidly, “I hope you understand my father’s—”

“That’ll do, Danthorpe!” barked the lieutenant. “I won’t hear any excuses!”

“But I wasn’t excusing him, sir,” protested Harley, “He’s a businessman. You have to understand that.”

“I understand that he’s a murderer!” roared the lieutenant.

Harley Danthorpe stopped dead. “He’s my father, sir!”

Lt. Tsuya hesitated. “As you were,” he growled after a moment. “Sorry, Danthorpe. This business is getting on my nerves.” He glanced around him, and I knew what was going on in his mind. Here were the giant basalt pillars, the hurrying crowds of people, the elaborate, ornate offices and administration buildings of a huge and prosperous city. And yet, if our predictions were correct, in a matter of days—and not very many of them, at that—all this would be swept away. The thundering shrug of the sub-sea rock adjusting itself would topple the buildings and wrench the edenite skin off Krakatoa Dome; icy brine, steel-hard under three miles of pressure, would hammer in; in another week the benthoctopus and the giant squid would make their homes here in the wrecked, drowned ruin that had been Krakatoa Dome.

There was nothing we could do to prevent it.

And nothing the city itself
would
do to save the lives of all its people!

Suddenly—”Danthorpe!” rapped the lieutenant. Harley sprang to attention. “Danthorpe, get to a phone. Relay to the base commandant my respects, and inform him that the city council has rejected my recommendation. Suggest that he take independent action through Fleet channels.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” snapped Harley Danthorpe, and departed on the double for a phone.

“Not that anything can be done through the Fleet in time,” muttered the lieutenant, gazing after him. “But still, they may be in time to rescue part of the inhabitants.”

I said: “Sir, if there’s anything I can do—”

“There is, Eden,” Lt. Tsuya said strongly. “As soon as Harley Danthorpe gets back. We are all going to investigate the chance that these quakes are artificial.”

“Good, sir!” I burst out eagerly. “I’ll lead you to the sump, where I saw the MOLE. And we won’t have to drain it, sir. I’ve been thinking it over, and we can dive in thermosuits—”

“Slow down, Eden,” he commanded. He gave me a thin smile. “You’re making one mistake. I’m not going to begin this investigation in the drainage sump.

“I’m going to begin it in your uncle’s office.”

We dropped to Deck Four Plus, the three of us, as soon as Harley Danthorpe returned.

We didn’t speak; there was nothing to say. There didn’t seem to be much panic among the working people of the city. Radial Seven was still rumbling with heavy electric trucks. The factories and warehouses were busy; the air still reeked with the aromatic tang of the great sea’s produce, baled and stored.

I guided the lieutenant and Harley Danthorpe up the gloomy stairs between the warehouses at number 88. We marched, in clattering quick-step, down the hall to the door of Eden Enterprises, Unlimited.

I hesitated.

“Go ahead,” ordered Lt. Tsuya sharply.

I pushed the door open and we walked inside.

Gideon Park was sitting at a third-hand wooden table in the bare little anteroom, laboriously pecking out something on an old mechanical typewriter. He looked up, saw me, and almost knocked it over.

“Jim!” he cried. “Boy, we’ve been hoping you’d come!”

And then he saw that I was not alone.

His wide grin vanished. His black, friendly face became blank and impassive. He put the plastic cover over the old typewriter, concealing whatever it was he had been writing, and he stood up with a politely curious expression.

I said awkwardly: “This is Lieutenant Tsuya, Gideon.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Lieutenant,” Gideon said politely.

But the lieutenant was having none of that. He demanded: “We want Stewart Eden. Why isn’t he here?”

Gideon pursed his lips. “But he is, Lieutenant,” he said civilly. “He’s in his private office.”

“Good,” snapped Lt. Tsuya, starting for the inner door. But Gideon moved quickly in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Mr. Eden cannot be disturbed fust now. You see, he’s asleep.”

“Wake him up!”

“Oh, no, Lieutenant. Tm afraid that’s impossible. You see,” explained Gideon, still polite, still impassive, “Mr. Eden isn’t well. His doctor’s orders. He’s supposed to rest every afternoon at this time. I suggest you come back in an hour or so.” he said, nodding politely.

The lieutenant snapped: “You’re hiding something, Mr. Park! Get out of my way!”

But Gideon didn’t move. Still calm, without any shadow of expression on his broad dark face, he stood immovable in front of the door.

Lt. Tsuya was pale, almost trembling with excitement. For a moment, I thought there was going to be a physical collision.

But then the lieutenant mastered his emotions and, still pale, stepped back.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Park,” he said. “This is a rather critical matter, and I’m afraid I am acting too hastily. But I am here on behalf of the Sub-Sea Fleet.”

Gideon’s expression flickered slightly. “The Fleet?” he repeated.

“On a very important investigation, Mr. Park. If Stewart Eden is actually here, you had better get him up. He is in serious trouble, I assure you.

“And for that matter, Mr. Park, so are you. According to Cadet Eden, here, you are involved in some very mysterious behavior—including the possession of a MOLE and what appear to be nucleonic explosives!”

Gideon Park noded slightly. He turned, slowly, and looked at me.

“You followed us then, Jim,” he said gently, after a moment.

I nodded. “What the lieutenant says is true, Gideon. I think you had better wake up Uncle Stewart.”

Gideon sighed: “Perhaps so, boy. All right.”

He turned to the sea-green door and rapped on it. There was no answer.

After a moment he turned the knob and the door swung open. The first thing I saw was the huge steel safe in the far corner of the room, and a narrow cot beside it. My uncle’s sea-boots stood beside the cot. And on it—

My uncle Stewart leaned on one elbow, looking up at us, his old blue eyes still foggy with sleep.

“Jim!” His sea-faded face brightened suddenly as he recognized me. “Jim, it’s good to see you!”

And then he, like Gideon, saw that I was not alone; and the same quick change in his expression happened. It was like a misty veil that was suddenly pulled down between us, hiding what he felt.

When he spoke, his voice was controlled. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.

“A great deal!” rapped Lt. Tsuya. “Cadet Eden, is this your uncle?’

“Yes, sir!”

“Then permit me to introduce myself! I am Lieutenant Tsuya of the Sub-Sea Fleet, here on official business.”

He scanned the room, taking his time. He scowled thoughtfully at the safe and said abruptly: “Mr. Eden, the Fleet has reason to believe that you are involved in a scheme to manufacture artificial seaquakes, for financial profit. I warn you that whatever you say may be used as evidence!”

“Oh, so,” said my uncle, sitting up. “I see.” He nodded blandly, like an old Buddha. He didn’t seem very worried…

And he didn’t seem surprised.

It was as though he had been expecting this to happen for a long time. He got up and walked slowly to the chair behind his broken-down desk. He sat down heavily, looking at the lieutenant.

“What do you want to know?” he said at last.

“Many things,” the lieutenant told him. “I want to know about a MOLE, and about contraband hydrogen devices that your assistant was seen using.”

My uncle glanced at me, then at Gideon. Gideon nodded.

“I see,” said my uncle at last. “But what has that to do with me?”

It was a most surprising thing for my uncle to say. I had never thought I’d hear him try to shrug off the responsibility for something Gideon had done! But Lt. Tsuya nodded.

“All right then, Mr. Eden,” he said. “Let’s take up a few things that concern you directly.

“First—” he counted off on his fingers—“there is a question of what you were doing near Mount Calcutta, during a recent eruption in which your sea-car was lost.”

My uncle said easily: “Deep-sea salvage is one of my major interests, Lieutenant. We had located a lost ship in one of the canyons below the sea-mount and we were attempting to salvage it.”

The lieutenant raised one of his thin black eyebrows. “I’m reasonably familiar with the history of the Indian Ocean. I don’t believe there was a major ship lost in the vicinity of Mount Calcutta in the past quarter of a century.”

My uncle nodded. “This was an older wreck.”

“I see.” Lt. Tsuya shrugged skeptically. “Then, if deep-sea salvage is your business, why did you open this office here in Krakatoa Dome?”

“Salvage is only one of my businesses. That’s why the firm name is ‘Eden Enterprises, Unlimited.’ It takes in any venture I may choose to launch.”

“Including stock speculation?” rapped Lt. Tsuya. “I understand you made a million-dollar profit out of the last quake.”

“Including stock speculation on occasion, yes,” my uncle agreed. “I’ve been trading in the wealth of the sea for thirty years, Lieutenant. When I arrived here—after the loss of my sea-car on Mount Calcutta—I discovered that security prices here were unduly inflated. I was quite sure that even a minor seaquake would start a panic and force the prices down, and I had no doubt that, sooner or later, there would be such a quake.

“Accordingly, I arranged to make short sales in the market. Does that answer your questions?”

The lieutenant was thoroughly angry now. He snapped: “Not all of them! I have one more question on my mind—and I warn you, I won’t rest until it’s answered.